From Debris
by SlyTheUltraNerd
Summary: In the aftermath of world devastation, one of the deadly challenges the survivors have to face are the strange mutants that now roam the ruins of the land. Some just want to exterminate these beings, while others try to assimilate them in their broken society. But when another war seems close at hand, a kid named Matthias will learn something more about these feared monsters.


_**This story is rated M for dark themes, violence, and language**_

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 **Chapter 1**

"Did I ev'r tell you boys about my time in Cursed?"

The old man interrupted the thick silence, the other two men perking up in attention. It was about time to kill the boredom, really. The cool late night air of spring was starting to make them yawn and long for rest. The fire crackled for a moment, one of the men slowly shook his head. "Don't think you have. But I'm sure you're just gonna tell it anyway."

He was a younger man, but that really wasn't saying much. His face was worn, cracked, and covered by his unshaven brown beard and unkempt mane. He tapped the gun on his leg impatiently, staring down the old man with furrowed brows above his solid green eyes. He didn't have much else to do anyway, so he stood quiet, waiting for the inevitable tale.

The old man huffed, not pleased with his comrade's tone. "How long you been here, boy? Ten years? Fifteen? Yer whole life?" he spat.

The bearded man scoffed, and shook his head once more. "Been here since the day after the bombs fell. A good twenty years, give or take. Why?"

The old man pointed at him with a wrinkled finger, and spat on the ground before speaking. "Ya ain't seen what I've seen, boy. Nonaya 'ave." He turns his gaze to the youngest of the three, holding his trembling finger at him. "You. What's yer name? I ain't seen ya before."

He was certainly not as old as the other two. His face was smooth, barren of any facial hair. The hair on his crown was a clean, silky black, almost like the night sky itself. His eyes were dark, muddied with brown irises that hesitated to stay on the old geezer. A light voice cracked when he spoke. "It's Matthias, sir."

The old man thought to himself for a moment. He hummed out loud. "Matthias," he repeated slowly. His stare was cold, like icicles piercing through the young boy's soul. "Have you ever heard of Cursed, Matthias?"

The young kid shook his head, slowly and hesitantly. The grip around his own rifle tightened. The fire crackled on. "No sir," he answered, his teeth grazed his lip a bit.

The old man grunted, picking up a stick from the ground. He poked the wood in the fire pit, sending small orange embers floating in the air around him. The breeze was still. Silent. The scent of ash was the only thing that aroused the senses of the men aside from the subtle, almost distant crackling.

"I ain't never seen a town with a more fittin' name than Cursed. Closest river were ten miles off. Ev'rthin was rationed. Food, water, all of it. People only got a certain amount-a rations each month. But that ain't the worse bit." He coughed suddenly before he covered his mouth with his arm.

The bearded man scoffed just a bit. He threw tufts of grass he was idly rooting to the fire, which replied with loud pops. "Don't die on us yet, Frank. Don't want to get the mutants attracted to us, now."

"Y-you shut yer damn mouth, Patrick!" Frank managed to sputter between violent hacking. His body trembled for a minute, before it recovered from the assault to his lungs.

Matthias scooted closer to the fire. His eyes narrowed with curiosity, patiently waiting for the geezer to come to his senses. "What was the worse bit?"

Frank glared at him. He spat on the ground and scoffed. A low hum resonated from his lungs. "Infestations," he muttered. "There were so many mutants. More than people."

The air somehow became stagnant at that very moment, seeping in Matthias's gut as he leaned forward. The grip around his weapon tightened, to the point where the metal was embedded in his palm. The hairs on the back of his neck stood alert. There was something off. Something that just didn't sit well with him. He could just smell it in the still air, a stench that just reeked of dread.

A twig snapped.

Everyone shot up to their feet instantaneously. Matthias nearly dropped his rifle with the way he shook. Nothing but silence followed but it surely didn't calm anyone. If anything, it made them much more apprehensive. Matthias had a chilling thought at that moment. They were short on ammo, and backup hadn't arrive yet. They only had a few magazines, a recruit who knew nothing, a feeble old man who could drop dead at any moment, and only one person with experience. At least, he hoped so.

"Shit," Patrick exclaimed, breaking the silence. He turned directly towards the source of the sound, keeping his eyes locked onto it. He slowed his breath, keeping an eye on every single detail on the forest ahead of him. The tall trees that towered over him, the brush that stood still just a few feet ahead, every single blade of grass. His ears blocked out everything from the wind to the cracking wood in the fire.

He was met with darkness and silence.

"Matthias, go check it out."

The boy jumped at the sound of his name, shaking terribly. His bones rattled, almost turning into dust right then and there. He looks over at the bearded man, the cold of his expression sending chills down the young boy's spine. He stammered "M-me sir?" It was a squeak that left his throat rather than his actual voice.

Patrick glared at him intensely, a sharp sparkle in his eyes. He growled, low and intimidating, snapping back, "You heard me, kid. Now quit being a pussy and do your job. Now."

Without another word, Matthias obeyed with a nod, forcing his petrified legs to move forward. It was very dark even inches away from the warm and comforting flames, thick enough to be considered a wall. No matter how hard he tried, he could never see past a foot ahead of him. On top of this, there was a lack of moonlight, and thick foliage.

Even with his eyes failing him, he moved forward, inch by inch, cautiously and methodically. When he was at the edge of the camp before he stopped dead in his tracks. A minute went by. Then two. He kept his senses attuned to the best of his ability. He even closed his eyes, letting his ears see for him.

Silence. Uninterrupted, uncanny silence.

Slowly, his eyelids peered open, once again revealing nothing but the wall of darkness that shrouded the forest. Not even a breeze was blowing. Yet, he wasn't satisfied. He could feel eyes gazing down upon him in the darkness. A gut feeling welled up inside him. Without thinking, going with his instincts, he found himself shouting "Who's there?!"

Nothing replied. The air grew stagnant once again. Still.

Suddenly, something only mere feet in front of him took off into the forest. Matthias couldn't make out a solid shape, but the movement of shadows and the frantic scampering starting to turn the gears in his mind. He raised his gun up at the darkness, aiming directly at the source of the sound. Before he could pull the trigger, the mysterious thing already was gone. Deep in the forest. Whatever it was, it was small and fast, which probably meant it wasn't a threat. Probably.

He sighed heavily, all the air that was pent up within him escaped his lungs. He was close to fainting right then and there. Catching his breath, he turned away and back to the campfire, where he could see the others still at full attention. Patrick's expression didn't change, and the bumbling old man shook in his boots, barely keeping his gun straight. Whether or not it was fear or his old age was up for debate.

Patrick spoke first, lowering his weapon as he saw how Matthias seemed relieved. "Nothing, kid? What happened?"

Matthias shook his head, happy that he was back in the warm light of the fire. "Something moved in the bushes up ahead. But it was small and too fast. I think we're fine."

Patrick glared at him with those piercing eyes. Before he could speak, the old man stomped on the ground with his heavy boot. "Ya let the damn thing go?!" Frank spat, still struggling to stand up.

The bearded man peered back at him with a disgusted expression. "Sit your ass down before you have a heart attack and attract every mutant within ten miles." His voice was low and calm, but his patience was wearing thin. He approached Matthias, towering over him. "You should've shot the thing," he muttered.

Matthias stood completely still, breathing slowly. The man wasn't a soldier, but it was clear that he had seen his fair share of fights. The scars along his fair skin formed like rivers on a map all along across his face. He looked ten years older than what he really was. The kid stared into his cold and almost lifeless eyes. "B-but… it ran off."

Patrick scoffed before grabbing Matthias's collar, pulling him right up to his face. "These things will fuck you up. Even the smallest ones. Now that little shit will probably run back to its pack, then bring it here to attack us. So even if it ran off, you should've shot it, kid. Next time this happens, I'm leaving you out there as bait. You got that?" His voice was eerily calm as his eyes seemed to rip apart the kid's very soul.

Matthias nodded once before Patrick released him from his grip. Without another word, the man went back to his seat, keeping his rifle close at hand. He pulled a silver flask from his pocket, taking a few sips from it before the camp went to silence once more.

The kid kept his gun close to him, staring back out into that curtain of black once, before swallowing the lump that was buildong up in his throat. With a heavy sigh, he slumped back to his spot by the fire, staring at the comforting flames. He shivered, the lack of noise set him on edge. Every idle crack in the forest around him echoed, sending his mind to places where it shouldn't. "What happened to Cursed?" He didn't really want to ask, but it was better than the silence.

Frank grunted in pain as he sat back down, his expression grim. His lips curled for a moment before he spat to the ground, coughing once, then, "It all went ta shit."

Patrick murmered and rolled his eyes, keeping his senses tuned to the forest rather than listen to the old man ramble. Frank responded with a glance of disgust before continuing. "Ev'ry day, mutants would storm the place. Small ones. Mutts, cats. Pests. Bugs. All sorts of nasty critters. But ev'ryone knew how to kill 'em. Ev'ryone knew about 'em..."

He trailed off, pulling his own weapon close. He stopped staring at anyone at this point, keeping his eye on the crackling flames. The light danced in his aging pupils as he tried to find his words. At least, that's what Matthias was hoping.

"The Illusionists were different," he started, almost just to himself. Matthias scooted closer, listening intently. People loved to give different names to the mutants, some practical, others being right out of some fantasy. He could even recall some people refering to some of the mutants as dragons. But this name seemed to intrigue him. The Illusionists. Something about the way Frank said that perfectly, even with his muddied accent, sent chills down the kid's spine.

"A boy came to me. A youngin' much like yerself. I was watchin' out in my outpost and he ran to me from the forest. Told me he seen'a monster, tall as a man. Had a big red mane." A heavy sigh left his chest. He looked sad, Matthias thought. His expression was gray and cold, a frown formed on his lips. "I told 'em that it was nuthin'... I told 'em that," he continued, his voice low and soft as he spoke directly to the flames.

Matthias leaned closer, keeping his attention to the old man as he grew quieter. A moment of silent passed. A chilling breeze brushed over camp, almost unnaturally. "What happened next?" Matthias asked in a hushed tone.

Frank kept his eyes on the flames and didn't respond. It was almost as if he could see what he was about to say play out in the flames, like a hellish theater performance. Matthias was going to say something else, but the old man continued. "I walked in the forest. I didn't run. I walked. I told the boy to stay there. Take my place. Told 'em that I be right back. I don't find anythin' there. Not a damn thing. But then I 'eard it." He stayed silent, staring at the flames.

Matthias shook a bit, scooting closer to the fire. His blood ran so cold that he couldn't feel the heat anymore. "Heard what?" His voice shook, but he needed to know what happened next. Something inside him ate away at his heart.

Frank finally tilted his head to the young guard. "Buckshot," he replied bluntly. "Buckshot. I know the sound. I can 'ear it a mile off." His voice shook, but he surely wasn't afraid. His hands struggled to hold his rifle, the metal clattering. "There was one shot. Then three. Four, five, six. It was more than one gun goin' off." He slumped in his seat, his eyes glassy and somber. "I ran, boy. I _ran._ My legs were goin' t' fall off. But..." he trailed off once more.

The air grew heavy and sour, almost too much for Matthias's heart sake. He didn't know exactly what was going to happen next, but he had a pretty clear idea. Frank continued once more, so low that it was almost a whisper. "They all were dead. Killed by one another. That boy… he were no older than thirteen? Fourteen? Buckshot got 'em. One of my partner's guns."

He stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath. His face was blank and his eyes were just locked into the flames. "They all killed one another. There was no one left." He sighed once more, shaking his head. His lips curled into a snarl. "It was the Illusionists. They made 'em think that they were mutants. And they killed each other. Every single one of 'em."

Matthias listened intently, but then his brow furrowed. "How do you know?" he asked, not really meaning to ask that out loud.

Frank glared at him with a look so sharp it could cut steel. His lips twitched slightly. "I seen many things, boy. Things that would make yer blood run cold. But I ain't never seen anythin' like this. This weren't cause by no man. They all thought they were monsters. The way they were killed, it were the same way you kill one of those things. Buckshot straight to the face." He sighs and rested back in his seat. "It were the Illusionists. I know it."

"That's a load of horse apples and everyone knows it," a voice boomed, making Matthias jump. Patrick shook his head, staring down the road, as if he already noticed the newcomers long beforehand. Matthias whipped his head around, seeing two men standing in the camp now. He never heard them approach.

"Cursed was always a mess. Their water supply was poisoned." The man who spoke was the tallest out of the entire group, standing over six feet give or take. His hair was a dark blonde, cleaner than everyone else, but that wasn't saying much. His beard was merely a shadow, barely covering the scratches and cuts on his weathered face. His expression was grim and foreboding. "I suppose introductions are in order. I'm Sergeant Thomas, and this is my comrade, Private Damien." He held his callous frown before bursting out in a friendly chuckle. "You guys seem tense! Relax, I don't expect you to be formal with us."

His partner, Damien, shook his head with a sigh. He was a much younger man, and probably hadn't saw as much action as his superior. His hair was much darker, almost matching the veil that surrounded the camp, and his beard was fuller. They both wore the same uniform. Thick blue coats that seemed way too hot to be wearing this time of the year, with an American flag sewn on the chest, where one's heart would be. They also had more equipment, including a headlamp strapped on their heads, knives on their boots, and a single grenade on their belts, which was a rare sight.

Patrick grumbled and looked back to the fire. "You're our backup? Just two men? And Patriots to boot, that's fantastic."

"How do you think we feel with a bunch of untrained volunteers?" Damien muttered, his eyes glued at Patrick. He immediately sat on the ground, warming his hands by the fire with his rifle strapped to his side. His face remained plain and stoic, unlike his jovial superior.

Insulted, Patrick stood up. However, before a conflict could happen, Thomas tapped the back of his comrade's head with the butt of his rifle. "Relax, Damian. The more guns, the better, doesn't matter who's holding them. We're all brothers near that fire, so save that animosity for the monsters, yeah?" His voice was light and friendly, but his gaze towards the soldier was harsh and demanding.

With a grunt, Damian nodded, regaining his composure after the unexpected strike. "Yes sir," he muttered, scooting up closer to the fire, shooting a glare at the bearded man, who simply grunted and spat on the ground.

Thomas smiled at the rest of the group. "Did anything interesting happen? You're all still alive, so that's a good sign!" His tone was hard to discern from either patronizing or genuine relief. He certainly seemed friendly enough, but he was clearly a trained soldier, although Matthias feared he probably thought of the rest of the group as little more than cannon fodder.

A hefty snort came from the old man, his wrinkled fingers aimed at Matthias. "Ask 'em. The runt let one of 'em run off," he barked. His face was as cold as ice staring at the kid, with saggy eyes.

Matthias jumped when the Patriot coiled his gaze. "Well," the kid started, his voice cracking under the pressure, "I heard one of them. Around the edge of the camp. I couldn't see it, but I heard it run deeper into the forest. It was small, that much I could tell."

"It's them small ones that get you, boy," Frank spat bitterly.

A chuckle escaped Thomas as he sat down by the fire. His smile was comforting to the young Matthias, his teeth being whiter than most other people he knew. "I don't think you have to worry, kid. Most mutants are scared of us, despite the superstitions surrounding them."

Frank only stared at the blonde soldier like how a dog glares at a cat, a snarl twitching on his lips. He remained quiet, grunting just a bit before silence exploded in the camp again. The fire popped and cracked, embers escaping like deep amber fireflies into the night air. Yet, nothing penetrated that thick black veil that surrounded them, not even that little bit of light.

The stoic Damien let out a soft sigh for a moment, looking to the rest of the group. "Awfully quiet," he mumbled in a gruff voice. He looks over to Frank, the silence still lingering. "You guys always this quiet? Must get boring."

The old man huffed, gripping his rifle with his wrinkled fingers. "I ain't talkin' to no Patriot," he spat simply.

Patrick chuckled quietly. "Neither am I. Fuck that."

The Patriot soldier smiled sarcastically, reaching in his pocket to snatch a cigarette. Carefully, he stuck the tip in the fire, lighting it before moving his mouth to take a few drags. "Fun bunch!" He shook his head and stared at the kid, his emerald eyes glistening like the gemstones. "What about you, kid, you gonna be an asshole?"

Matthias quivered timidly for a moment, his mind going blank. "No, sir… I'm not an," he paused, sighing a bit before he continued. "A jerk. I'm not a jerk."

Damian turned to his superior with a sarcastic grin, puffing plumes of toxic smoke. "This isn't the school ground, kid, you can curse all you like. Fuck this, fuck that. You're not an asshole." Matthias jumped a little with the soldier's laugher. "You got a name, kid?"

The young man nodded timidly, brushing his hair out of the way of his face. "It's Matthias. Matthias Newmaker."

Damian just nodded and smiled, seemingly happy that he was able to actually start a conversation. The insufferable quiet faded away now. "Matthias. What, like Matthew but different? What, is it Russian or something?"

"Matthias as in Saint Matthias," Thomas interrupted. Damian just gawked in bewilderment. "From the Bible. He was the chosen person to replace Judas after his betrayal."

The scarred soldier took another long drag. "You actually read that shit?" He scoffed before Thomas could reply looking back at Matthias. "So, Mr. Saint, where you from?"

Matthias leaned in, getting a little more comfortable with the conversation. It had been a while since he had talked with a stranger, especially since not many would come to his little town. "Whiskey," he answered. "The town you guys are posted at."

"You mean the town the Patriots are annexing in their shitfest," Patrick blurted out suddenly. He glared at the two soldiers, the firewood snapping and whining. "Our little town that the Patriots decided to invade with their taxes and politics no one wants."

Thomas just sighed, holding Damien's shoulder before he could retort. Damien just stood still with his face returning to its stoic expression. His dropped his cigarette on the ground, stomping it out with his boot with a loud crunch. "We're not going to annex anything. We're just here to make sure the Klan in the south decides to stay away from your respectable town."

"Bullshit." Patrick gripped the weapon in his arms, his palm running over the cold steel of the trigger guard. "You could give less of a shit if the Klan invades, rapes the women, and enslaves everyone else. You just don't want them taking away another cash crop."

Damien stood up, clearly rattled. "You don't have the men, nor the guns to fend off those slaving despots. You barely have the mettle to stand up against pitiful mutants."

Thomas stood with his comrade, trying to bring him back down to his seat. "Damien, that's enough. This isn't worth the time."

Patrick stood up suddenly, his rifle strapped by his side. "If you just left us alone there would be no Klan for us to worry about, you sonuvabitch. So you can just piss off with your fancy words and shiny coats. No one wants you here."

Damien moved closer for a retort, but before a word left his mouth, a loud rustle erupts from the empty blackness of the forest. Everyone but the old man jumped, cold rifles in hands. The crunching leaves move just a few feet from the camp.

Silence crept back in the camp, Matthias trembled so heavily that his rifle rattled in his arms, which sounded like someone smashing tin cans. Frank finally got to his feet with painful yelps, holding the heavy rifle in his fragile arms. "It's back. It's back. It's back," he mumbled to himself over and over.

Thomas moved forward at the edge of the camp, looking back with a blank face. "You guys stay here. I'll check it out."

Before anyone could protest, he stepped out into the shroud, sinking in like a rock in dark waters. Patrick muttered something under his breath but he kept quiet, keeping the sights of his rifle pinned at the empty void. He didn't care about collateral damage if it came to that.

A moment of silence went by.

Then another.

The breeze blew through gently across the statues of men with guns, aiming at a wall of nothing. The fire fizzed and cracked, the embers glowing then fading as quickly as they appear. Minutes passed and still nothing. Not a single sound.

Then the crack of twigs. Heavy footfalls.

Matthias' heart was racing, bashing his rib cage like a morbid drum, almost bursting from his chest. The old man sputtered and shook, barely able to take the stress for much longer. Patrick kept his finger on the trigger, only inches away from letting out a volley of lead into the pit of darkness. Damien stood still, gazing in the night fog trying to make out even the slightest silhouette among the darkness.

Crunch. Thud.

Fingers on the cold bit of metal.

Crunch.

Then a voice. A familiar voice. Thomas's warm inflections. "Stand down! It's alright!"

A collective sigh emitted from the camp, Everyone but Patrick and Frank kept their guns down at the Patriot. He was alive, walking towards the camp slowly. But they didn't seem to care.

Thomas wasn't alone.

In his arms, he held a trembling little creature. A mutant, but every creature was called that now. It was a canine of sorts, and the light of the fire glistened off it's fluffy fur. Its face and paws were covered in the black fuzz while the rest of its body was a light gray. Deep red iris filled its eyes, centered within yellow sclera, like that of a Goblin Blanket Flower. It was small, barely two feet in height. The most unique feature, however, were two overgrown canines that jutted from its bottom jaw.

Patrick stood still, pointing his weapon right at the Patriot commander. Matthias just kept his gun close to him, unsure of what to do as Frank's feeble body gave in and sat down, the tension from earlier sapping away his energy. Patrick was the only one facing Thomas with a weapon filled with lighting at his fingertips. "Why did you bring that here?" He asked, simply. His expression grew cold.

Thomas stood still. It seemed to Matthias that this dangerous mutant was terrified. The pup whined and trembled a bit, clearly uncomfortable from all the humans around it. "I caught it," Thomas answered back, his expression stern and unyielding. "Patriots do it all the time, I thought you knew this."

Patrick snarled. "I ain't a fucking Patriot. That thing isn't going anywhere near here, or Whiskey."

Damien stood up, the barrel of his smaller sidearm now pinned at Patrick's head. "You better put the gun down," he warned, clicking the hammer of his pistol back.

Another chilling quiet rang through the breeze. Patrick sighed heavily, keeping his arms still. "Not until he leaves or kills the mutant."

Thomas shook his head. "It's policy, sir. Any beast that can be trained should be trained. It's my duty as a Patriot to catch whatever I can and send it back to base. Besides, we could use a war dog out here."

Patrick wanted to say something, but the big iron in his peripheral made him bite his tongue. With a long, annoyed sigh, he brought his gun down, sitting back down on the log. "Fine," he muttered in defeat. "But you better send that thing back to your base or cage fights, or whatever the hell you do with those things. The mayor won't take kindly to it."

Thomas' smile returned to his face as he pets his newfound companion, trying his best to soothe it. Matthias stared at him tentatively before sighing. The Patriot soldiers quietly conversed among themselves, keeping the little creature within their grasp.

Although it was the first mutant Matthias had seen up close, it seemed to be nothing special. It was just a small lost puppy. Lost and afraid. He had heard that mutants would abandon their spawn at a very young age, but he didn't know that meant they were useless whelps. He wondered what the Patriots would even do with such a creature.

Still, something about the thing rubbed him the wrong way. The echoes of Frank's stories crossed his mind. How a tiny group of these mutants wiped out an entire village. How they made them go insane enough for them to blow their own heads off with shotguns. He couldn't even imagine the gore that came from such a death. It sent chills down his spine.

"You alright, kid?" Patrick asked, moving a bit closer to him. His voice made the young man jump.

Matthias nodded. "Yeah, I'm alright. This is just a tense night," he admitted, staring back out into the dark.

Patrick scoffed. "Well, welcome to the guard force. You better get used to it, or you'll be the first one dead when the Klan invades. Or worse." He stared off at the Thomas who was still comforting the creature, which was soundly asleep in his lap. "You'll end up as food, like those sorry assholes."

Matthias just let out a quiet hum of affirmation before focusing on the edge of the camp. It was surreal to him, being this close to the edge of his home's territory. He had heard the stories of how dangerous it was out there, how many people die only a mile away from town. It made his heart sink.

But it wasn't the stories that got to him. It wasn't the real threat of a Klan army somewhere out there watching and waiting to attack and kill everyone for their slaving ways that sent shivers down his spine. It wasn't the mutants roaming around the camp and even watching them that chilled him down to the very bone. No, it was what he didn't know about what's beyond that thick veil of night that got to him. The very idea of him not knowing what to expect made him quiver.

It was this unknown, this darkness, that was truly and utterly terrifying.

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 _ **AN: This is a rewrite of a story I wrote a few years ago, as some readers may be familiar with the title. Thanks for reading, following, and commenting.**_


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